


Too Little, Too Late

by Synchron



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, I'm Sorry, Oblivious Reader, Oblivious Vergil, angst???, but at least reader can kick butt?, but at least the ending isn't... awful?, did i mention y'all are big dummies?, idk why I did this tbh, like honestly both of y'all are idiots, sort of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-07-25 03:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16189358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchron/pseuds/Synchron
Summary: Your heart aches because there's no saving you here.Because this time, you'll save them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't intend for this first chapter to exist at all, but I figured I should have _some_ kind of context for the events of the upcoming chapter, so I typed stuff up, and now here I am. So I'm super sorry if this feels a bit rushed in comparison. :/
> 
> Hope it's enjoyable nonetheless!

Over the gnashing of teeth, the singing of steel, the overall chaos of the fight erupting all around you, you come the realisation that unless something is done about that demonic portal, these demons will simply keep on coming. Wave after wave after wave until you all grow weary, and then the city will be overrun. That can't happen. Trish and Dante had splintered off from you, leaving you in the care of Vergil to handle matters on the other side of town. Cleverly, the demons had devised a two-pronged attack, realising that forcing their enemies to spread out would increase their chances of success, and it's with a bitter resentment that you acknowledge that if this continues, they might actually be right - they've never come at you all this hard before. Not with this sort of coordination.

What are you supposed to do then? Fight until the bitter end? Admittedly, that's more or less how you thought your life would come to an end. Not comfortably in a hospital bed, ripe with old age and surrounded by family and loved ones. That life wasn't for someone like you. No, fighting side by side with the people (man??) you loved, and going out in a blaze of glory was more your style. For the good of the world. For humanity. For Dante. For him--

And it's with a sudden clarity that you understand what it is you have to do. Trish and Dante aren't here, and Vergil is strong enough to hold the line on his own. And you? You will charge into the fray, dive right into that demonic portal and kill whatever stupid motherfucker is powering it and willing it to stay open. If you don't, this will never end, not until you all fall. And you just can't let that happen. The world wouldn't be any more or less fucked if you weren't in it, but if something happened to Dante? Or Vergil? Or Trish?  _ Or all three? _ That's giving everything in hell a Get Out Of Jail Free card. The solution is so simple, but at the same time, the mere idea makes your heart throb painfully in your chest - sharp successive pangs that course through you for a reason you don't fully understand.

Except maybe you do.

You've always known that despite your strength, your capabilities, your honed instincts, you're still just human, and that should you ever find yourself in a bind with no foreseeable way out, it's always one of the twins who'd come save you - whether it be Dante with a casual quip, or Vergil with his tranquil fury. No matter what, they would always come through for you.

Your heart aches because there's no saving you here.

Because this time, you'll save them.

 

* * *

  
  
In a temporary lull in combat, you and Vergil spend what little time you have recuperating on the roof of an abandoned building before the next wave hits. You stand by the edge, your heavy cleaver loosely in hand, its tip resting on the floor. All your muscles ache, but your arms and shoulders bear the worst of it. You're used to to your weapon, and more than proficient in wielding it, but its weight always eventually takes its toll, and the two of you have already been fighting for so long…

With a shaky exhale, you lift your free hand to swipe the back of it across the bridge of your nose, feeling sweat, grime and god knows what else rub off onto your skin. Hearing steady footsteps behind you, you half turn your head to regard the older of Sparda's sons. By comparison, he looks pristine with not a hair out of place, or a drop of demon blood on him. It's almost maddening how perfect he always is, even when you  _ know _ he's beginning to tire.  _ Beginning to _ .

"The next wave will be upon us soon. Be ready."

"And how much longer will this continue? How much longer will we last?" There's no doubt that you're coming off as pathetic, dispirited. Tired. But that's because right now? You kind of are.

"We last for as long as we must." You have to give Vergil credit for maintaining this level of optimism when it normally isn't his style. But on the other hand, his stamina far outmatches your own - he can probably continue well into the evening. Maybe even into dawn. It wouldn't surprise you.

With a half hearted laugh, you reach into your hair with your free hand, mussing it slightly, and finding yourself suddenly nervous. "That's not good enough. Something needs to be done about that portal, and you know it. I know it. Even Dante and Trish probably know it."

From behind you, Vergil narrows his eyes. Something about this conversation doesn't seem right. You're not normally this subdued and solemn. You are a free spirit who always pours 100% of yourself into all that you do. You blaze your own path, howl into the proverbial darkness to show that you are not afraid of it. He admires you for these traits. Even more so that you are merely human.

You are strong.

His thoughts are interrupted when he suddenly feels something warm press against his cheek, and his brow twitches at the idea that he'd zoned out enough for you to get close enough to touch without him even realising. This is the power you hold over him. Surprisingly though, he doesn't lean away or swat your hand off him. He allows you to stand before him, hand held firmly against his angled cheek, because he doesn't mind that you're able to do these things to him.

"For once…" Your lips curve upwards in the barest of smiles, but when Vergil looks into your eyes, all he can see is an emptiness that's so unlike you. He wants to comment on it, to ask what it means, but in the distance, he can hear the angered screeches of demons approaching. The sounds of many feet padding along the ground, clambering up the walls. There just isn't enough time. He finds that with you, wherever you're concerned, there never is. "Let me save you."

The next thing he registers is the feeling of your lips on his. It's by no means perfect. Your lips are dry and mildly chapped, and the suddenness of it is not nearly as ideal as he'd have liked, but before he can protest, before he can react, you're doing what you do best, even if you never realise it - keeping him on his toes.

You shove Vergil square in the chest, and you know that it's only due to the abrupt nature of it that he reels backwards, eyes meeting yours just in time to watch you step over the edge of the building. The instant that you're gone, Vergil understands with almost deafening clarity what you mean to do, but by the time he reaches the edge of the building, peering down over it, you're already long gone. The hand holding Yamato at his side clenches it so tightly, that were it not a weapon of vast demonic power, it would have cracked under the pressure. How could he be so stupid? How could  _ you _ be so stupid?

But too little, too late.

The demons have arrived, and unfortunately for them, Vergil is in  _ no mood _ for this shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching things up a bit. I'm sorry lol
> 
> A big thanks to the folks leaving kudos and the like too! Even with DMC5 on the way, with how quiet it is in this corner of this site, I wasn't expecting it to be viewed this much, so thank you, I appreciate it!!

Behind your closed eyes, there's nothing as poetic as a light at the end of a tunnel that escapes your pursuit. No pearly white gates to deny you entrance. No stairway to heaven that never actually ends. In your haze, that surreal moment between consciousness and being dead to the world around you, there are only indistinct shapes in a black void, exploding into colours you can't really identify, and the feeling of your body slowly remembering that it has a physical presence and mass. Bit by bit, limb by limb, you begin to stir, eyelids heavy and almost unyielding, but you _do_ awaken, and when you finally realise it, you startle, and your entire body jerks painfully. You try to utter a curse, an automatic response to the sharp sensation that jolts through all the way through your being, but no sound other than a hoarse croak escapes you. You think what you felt was pain, but it was the adamant protest of your stiff and underused muscles, so suddenly forced into action after god knows how long, and it's only when you settle back into your initial position does it subside.  
  
"Easy…" A voice to your left soothes you, tone gentle and reassuring. You recognise it as belonging to Dante, and with what strength your current state allows, you turn your head to look at him, only now registering the stark contrast of his red coat against the white of the hospital room. He sits on a chair beside your bed, leant forward with elbows propped on his knees. On the other side of your bed stands an ECG monitor, which you can hear beeping steadily to what you can guess is your own heart rate. "Four fractured ribs, a broken wrist, internal bleeding, muscle tearing in your shoulder, and a nasty bump on your noggin left you down and out for nearly two weeks, babe. Give yourself a sec to get used to the waking world."  
  
Two weeks? As your brain slowly catches up with the rest of your body - a direct result of years of honed instinct as a fellow (albeit entirely human) demon hunter - you recall the sequence of events that brought you to this hospital bed in fragments. A particularly dangerous mission. Someone had to hold the defense. Someone else had to dive right into the fray to make sure the demonic portal closed. You are human. Expendable. A dime a dozen. But the twins? They're the world's irreplaceable guardians against all things that would harm humanity. Nothing can happen to them. You remember Vergil. Your hand on his cheek, staring into those eyes that normally shine with so much clarity and self-awareness. So much certainty of his own strength. You remember leaning into him, and--  
  
Oh god.  
  
"Fuck…" At last, your voice decides to cooperate with you, but just barely, and lifting up a heavy arm, you bring your bandaged hand up to your face to drape over your eyes. Is it out of exhaustion? Embarrassment? Maybe a little bit of both.  
  
"You can say that again. You left us with a hell of a shitshow to clean up." Dante leans back in his chair now, posture more casual now that he sees your spirits have somewhat lifted. If your first word in two weeks is a swear, you're probably going to be just fine, even if you sure as hell don't feel it right now. "But I'm glad you're okay. Gave us a bit of a scare, you know? Especially…" He trails off, eyes wandering to the table at your bedside where a familiar sword leans against it, and to the best of your ability, you follow his gaze. The sword is of eastern design, elegant and dignified, something you always thought was strange considering its roots as a demonic weapon. But having previously belonged to Sparda himself, an unusual anomaly even among demons, maybe Yamato isn't so strange after all.  
  
The sight of the sword makes you rather nervous as you know Vergil never leaves it for long, and having to face him brings a very different kind of pain, one localised entirely in your chest that has no grounds in medical science, yet exists anyway. Who'd have thought that heartache is a very real concept?  
  
There must have been a betraying look in your eyes, because Dante's next line of questioning goes exactly where you _don't_ want it to. "So what the hell happened? I figure you closed the portal, but Vergil won't say anything else about it, and he's been pissy ever since."  
  
Hearing that makes you clench your jaw, and in the midst of the way your heart wrenches, it now also throbs with guilt. What you did was stupid. Reckless. Foolish. And above all...  
  
Entirely selfish.  
  
What were you expecting him to do? How were you expecting him to answer? Why would you drop such a dreadnaught of a gesture on him without consulting his own feelings beforehand?  
  
...did he even return the sentiment?  
  
You shake your head, and while Dante frowns, dissatisfied with your response, he doesn't press you on it - you did only just wake up after all, there'll be a time to properly explain. "On a scale of--" a series of dry coughs interrupts your speech. Rising from his seat, Dante wordlessly moves to your bedside table to pour you a cup of water from the pitcher that sits atop it. It's his movements that draw your attention to the card that lies there too, the cover is lifted open  just enough for you make out a smudge of lipstick in the corner of it. Trish, of course.  
  
"I figure you'd prefer some bourbon, but I kinda wanna stay in the cute nurse's good books, so deal with this for now, and I'll buy you a round later." With his free hand, Dante gently eases you into a sitting position, helping your stiff fingers wrap around the cup and holding it up to your lips. You don't realise just how parched you are until you actually swallow, and though it's tentative at first, you end up gulping the entire cup down almost greedily.  
  
When Dante goes to pour you another cup, you lift a hand to stop him and continue your previous sentence, finding the words coming much easier now that you've had something to drink. "On a scale of one to ten… how pissed is he?"  
  
Dante opens his mouth to answer, but promptly closes it, head angling to look over his shoulder almost as if he hears something in the distance. And then instead of answering you, he gives you a shrug. "Strap yourself in, because you're about to find out, babe."  
  
Before your stomach can begin to churn at the implication of those words, the door to your hospital rooms swings open, and there's a brief, very brief moment where Vergil goes rigid at seeing you awake before his shoulders relax, and his movements return to the fluid grace he always carries himself with. He doesn't close the door behind him as he fully steps into your room - an unspoken demand for Dante to leave which he picks up on almost immediately. Having worked with each other for as long as they have, it's only natural that certain aspects of their bond have developed this far - were you any more coherent, any more cognizant, you'd have smiled at the notion. Adjusting his coat, Dante moves to leave the room, but not before shooting you one final glance over Vergil's shoulder, both hands lifting in an open palmed gesture with all ten fingers splayed. He does this twice before he points to his older twin, mouthing the word 'twenty' at you, and you realise he's answering your question from before.  
  
So a twenty then. Great. That's less than you were expecting, but still more than you were hoping for. That's why you avoid his gaze as he sits down in Dante's - or you suppose it's his? - chair, and with a gentle click of the door closing, you're left alone. A heavy silence falls over the two of you after that, neither of you really knowing how to proceed. Vergil, because he is Vergil, and a man of few words. And you, because you don't know whether you're supposed to follow up on what you did, apologise profusely for it, or cry.  
  
At the moment, you kind of want to do all three.  
  
"You're awake." Vergil's observation is… delayed, but you know this is his attempt at dispelling the awkward and oppressive air that has settled over the two of you. Sadly, it doesn't really work.  
  
"Yeah…"  
  
And you're both back at square one.  
  
Sensing that he'd utterly failed - Vergil is quiet, but far from ignorant, and even further from oblivious - he tries again. "What were you thinking?" As much as he tries to mask it, to control it, the curt edge in his tone is unmistakable, and thinking about it now, he has every right to be angry with you. If you were in his shoes, you'd be too.  
  
"The portal had to be closed." You don't like how tiny and timid your voice sounds. You don't like how you can barely look Vergil in the eye. And although nothing about his demeanour indicates otherwise, he doesn't like it either.  
  
"I wasn't talking about that."  
  
Your stomach drops. Of course he wasn't, but you were just trying to push your luck. Hell, if you had to guess, you'd hazard that all of yours ran out on that rooftop two weeks ago when you stupidly kissed him and then ran. Why _did_ you do that? It seems so stupid in hindsight, where desperation and exhaustion aren't looming prospects. Maybe that's why you're not really able to rationalise what you did.  
  
Your gaze doesn't rise from your hands in your lap, fingers tangling themselves in the scratchy wool of the hospital blanket over and over just to give yourself something to focus on. Something that isn't his (currently) overwhelming presence, or the way he's looking at you with an expression you've never seen on him before. "I… wasn't expecting to make it out alive. I didn't think that far ahead."  
  
_So I wanted to tell you before I left,_ you think, the words and reasons (or perhaps excuses?) coming so much more easily in your mind. _I didn't want to regret it_.  
  
For the next few moments, Vergil's eyes search your face. He likes to think he understands how your mind works. He certainly observes you enough to be able to read your mood - glancing out the corner of his eye as you walk past him in Devil May Cry, watching you over the top of his books as you answer calls to the shop, smiling to himself whenever you playfully argue with Dante over trivial matters - not _because_ you're arguing, but because there's always so much fire in you. Where are those flames now?   
  
"Do you think I am incapable of protecting you?"  
  
"No--" Your reply is said hastily, and it forces another series of coughs from you, coming from deep enough within your chest to hurt. You cannot stress enough that you don't think him to be inadequate, understanding fully that that idea might hurt him the most. You've heard bits and pieces of the sibling's past, most of it from Trish, but some of it from Dante himself. You understand who their father is, and their mother… Losing family is always difficult, but to have been so powerless to act… for it to have affected Vergil so deeply… you don't want him to think for even a moment that his lack of strength is what pushed you to do what you did. Not when he couldn't be more wrong with that assumption.   
  
Wordlessly, Vergil goes to pour you a cup of water, and just like Dante - perhaps uncharacteristically so, but likely out of sympathy, you think -  he is gentle when he helps coax your fingers around the cup. Stupidly though, the feeling of his hands on yours brings an unwanted flush into your cheeks, and you know Vergil sees it. But instead of a teasing remark like Dante would have thrown at you, Vergil remains poised, his actions composed until you finish gulping your second cup of water down, and he places the cup back onto the bedside table, going back to settle into his chair. "It isn't that."  
  
He waits a few seconds for you to continue your thought, but when you don't, he prompts you with a soft but firm, "...then what is it?"  
  
It isn't so easy to put into words. The nuance is subtly different from thinking he wasn't able to protect you. It was about wanting him to stay alive.  
  
"Nothing can happen to you." You figure that's a good starting point. "If anything happened to you, or Dante… or even Trish, there's so little stopping demons from breaching our world for good. You're our first, last and only line of defense. I had to protect it no matter what."  
  
"So you thought to throw your own life away." It isn't a question. It is a fact. It is what you did, condensed down into its most poignant and hurtful form. These sort of assertions are so like Vergil - he is always clear cut, no-nonsense, and straight to the point - and when he says it like that, all you can do is shrink even further into yourself, almost as if his words and unwavering gaze are a physical burden. But even though he can so clearly see that his words are affecting you, he presses on regardless, because that too, is so like him. "Did you not consider that you are of no use to me dead?"  
  
It's almost funny how casually Vergil says that, not realising that it makes your blood run cold, and your stomach flip over itself in your gut. Is this how he sees you? A burden at best, and something to be used at worst? Someone so impossibly small by comparison? _Of no use to me_ , he'd said. The emphasis he placed on those words continue to echo within you, reverberating so deeply, and with so much force that you can swear you feel your heart rattling in your chest. Or is that what they call heartbreak? On cue, the ECG monitor on the other side of your bed starts beeping more rapidly, a clear signal of the distress you so badly want to hide from him, and in an attempt to do just that, you hang your head low. The hands that busied themselves with the blanket in your lap clench into fists as the hurt you feel slowly begins to simmer. And then boil. You were always taught to channel your thoughts and emotions into something productive, and so instead of moping, you reach for the next easiest thing. Funny how, despite being on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, they're so easily interchangeable.   
  
When you finally look up at Vergil, the fire in you he'd been missing returns as a tightly clenched jaw and furrowed brow. "Is that all you have to say?" It's extremely rare that you'd ever get genuinely angry with the twins, much less Vergil who is always so logical and composed. The man himself seems somewhat taken aback, eyes widening slightly, jaw going slack as his lips part in surprise. "What did you want me to do, Vergil? I'm not like you. The blood that runs through _me_ doesn't grant me the kind of strength yours does, so I do what I can with what I'm given. Back then? We were being worn down. It needed to end, so I took a risk. And now you're telling me, I'm what, a burden on you? I thought that you--"  
  
You cut yourself off there with a curt inhale of air. Not because you've said enough, but because you understand now that nothing will come of it. If you were completely honest with yourself, if you allowed yourself the indulgence, you thought his presence here today meant something a little more than simple concern for a comrade. That foreign, faraway look in his eyes you still can't place… The way his hands, calloused, yet so warm closed over your own…so gentle, so careful. Maybe you were looking too deeply into it. Looking for something you _want_ to be there.  
  
The sound of your name falling from his lips jostles you out of your thoughts, but the most you spare him is a sidelong glance as you slowly ease yourself back down into the bed, rolling away from him.  
  
"Forget it, Vergil. Just… forget what happened. Forget that I ever…" You sigh. "Everything's fine. And I need to rest."  
  
You don't, not really, and both of you know this. But Vergil rises from his chair all the same, collecting Yamato from its spot and silently respecting your wishes. It's only when you hear your room door close that your body relaxes, and the tension you didn't realise you'd been holding onto begins to seep away.   
  
How could you be so stupid?  
  


* * *

  
"And here I thought I had bad luck with the ladies."  
  
It isn't that Dante was _eavesdropping_ per se. He was just standing outside, minding his own business. It isn't _his_ fault his hearing is this good, and he just _happened_ to overhear most of the exchange you had with his brother. But he gets the feeling Vergil won't buy that, so rather than slapping together a halfhearted excuse, Dante just offers his twin an uncertain smile, lacking in the usual cockiness he so effortlessly exerts. Vergil meanwhile, can only scowl, gaze sharp, and lips drawn into a thin line. He doesn't need Dante to tell him how badly that conversation went, and he needs the witty remarks even _less_. That's why Vergil says nothing, allowing the silence to speak on his behalf.  
  
"That might work on me, bro, but her? If you actually spoke like a normal person, maybe you'd--" It's a summoned sword suddenly flying in his direction that silences Dante, catching it easily between his fingers before the energy dissipates, dissolving into the air in wisps. It was an idle threat at best, an indication that Vergil doesn't particularly want to discuss it. That and well… starting a fight in the middle of a hospital isn't exactly ideal. Huffing out a sigh, Dante spreads his hands in defeat. "Okay, have it your way. But this isn't gonna go away by itself."  
  
Again, that isn't something Vergil needs being told, but true to his nature, he simply keeps walking.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had half of this written for so damn long, but I was unsure of how to finish it, so it's just been sitting in my drafts for months... When I originally wrote this, it was before DMC5 released, and was set in an AU of sorts where Vergil makes it back after his uh.. adventures as Nelo Angelo, and thus his characterisation was always supposed to be a little different. But I think my thoughts on 5Vergil have kinda seeped through into this one a little bit lmao. Oh well, I love me some soft and tired Vergil, and I hope you do too!!! Let the man have a break, and be gentle and tender!!!!!!

Vergil doesn't come back to visit you again. Not even on the day you're finally being discharged from the hospital. In his stead, and perhaps unsurprisingly, it's Dante and Trish who show up, which is fine of course, since you weren't really expecting anything to begin with. In the following weeks since that day, you've had ample time to reflect on your own feelings. On what happened. The lack of reciprocation on his part doesn't hurt any less - no matter how much you try to convince yourself that hoping something will change in him, something will make him see, you understand it's a pointless venture. And yet, you still found yourself hoping he'd come back through that door one day. When he never did, you merely resigned yourself to accepting that this is how it just is for now. Will a proper discussion ever be had? Maybe one day, but it isn't something you really want to think about at the moment, and if his lack of presence is any indication, it isn't something he wants to deal with either. You're not even sure how you're supposed to face him - it seems the longer you spend avoiding him, the harder it'll become to talk. But you suppose you'll cross that bridge when you get to it. Whenever that might be. It isn't _now_ , and that's fine.  
  
And that's the cycle you've been caught in ever since you turned your back on Vergil. Never really addressing the issue - simply letting it loom larger for your future self to take care of. Procrastination at its finest.  
  
For whatever reason, whether they're respecting your privacy, or whether it's too awkward for even _them_ to bring up, Dante and Trish say nothing as they're helping you out of the hospital. Trish idly twirls the car keys around her finger as she moves out of the building, and Dante's hand, warm, large and reassuring, rests on your back, gently helping you into the car. It isn't until you're on the road does someone finally say something. Trish's eyes are on you, glancing up at the rearview mirror to look at you in the back seat.  
  
"You wanna swing by the shop? For once, we're not having pizza." In the seat beside her, Dante huffs rather indignantly, clearly disappointed. "Call it a little celebratory splurge to welcome you back."  
  
You don't break your gaze with the streets that whiz by outside when you respond, merely smiling to at least show you appreciate the gesture. Inwardly, your gut twists uncomfortably. Being at Devil May Cry means being near Vergil, and distantly, you wonder if that's her reason for asking. "Great as that sounds, I think all I really want is to sleep in my own bed."  
  
Unknown to you, Trish and Dante share a knowing glance at each other before Dante shrugs. It's a rather foolproof excuse, one that effectively closes the book on the subject. At least for now.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
There's comfort in returning to your small apartment after nearly two months away. Everything is as you've left it, right down to the book you left open on the armrest of your couch before you got the call about that damn portal opening and you had to run out the door immediately after. It brings a sense of familiarity, of comfort and safety, and not just because you've erected protective seals on each of the outer walls of your apartment. Your home is a place of peace. Here, nothing will hurt you.  
  
"You sure you don't wanna drop by?" It's Dante who asks you this time from his lean against your door frame, arms folded casually across his chest. "Last chance for some good old spag bol before we give up your portion."  
  
For the first time in what feels like months, you actually rise to the banter, offering up a wry smile. For as awkward as the atmosphere was on the drive over, it's as easy as that to fall back into old habits and good banter. Will it be the same with Vergil, you wonder? Dante always was the more easygoing twin... "Spaghetti? Really? So much for a welcome back splurge."  
  
Without missing a beat, Dante's response comes easily, as things always seem to for him, "You'd rather pizza? I mean, I'd be down with that. Haven't had any since you got hospitalised, and a man's getting desperate. You can even throw olives on it. See if I care." From somewhere in your kitchen, no doubt giving your apartment a quick once over for your and their own peace of mind, Trish scoffs in amusement because both of you know that isn't true.  
  
"Really though, I'm okay. After I clean myself up a bit, change into something a bit more comfortable, I'm probably gonna pass right out."  
  
The ensuing silence and solemn look on Dante's face means he's mulling something over in his head. What, you'll never know, because with a quiet grunt, he's pushing himself off the door frame and dusting off his hands. "Well, you know where we are if you wanna drop by. I'm just sad you're gonna miss out on that pie I baked just for you."  
  
It's your turn to scoff now. "A pie _you_ baked would put me back into the hospital. I'll pass."  
  
"Ouch, not even an hour out of bed, and you're already going straight for the jugular. I'll be in the car, Trish." Dante gives you a rather pointed look, a hand over his heart with a look of faux hurt. "Tending to my wounds."  
  
With a final nod in your direction, Dante leaves. It isn't long after that Trish finally returns, and she regards you with a contemplative look, and a hand on her hip. The silence between the two of you seems to drag on for what feels like hours, as she picks and chooses the right words to use in a last ditch attempt to win you over. It isn't nearly as daunting as the stifling silence that comes hand in hand with Vergil's aura, but it's uncomfortable all the same because you know what she intends to do. Maybe she senses it too, because her shoulders drop as she shifts her weight to her other leg, stance becoming more relaxed in an attempt to dispel the tension in the air - she hates it when gets suffocating like that.  
  
"It isn't any of my business, I know - Vergil isn't particularly fond of me, since I look…" she gestures to herself with one downward sweep of her hand, "you know, like their mother, but he's better off with you around. You know that, right?"  
  
Yep, there it is.  
  
Heaving a quiet, almost resigned sigh, you look down, pretending to fiddle with the cast over your wrist.  
  
"He'll never say it, but he misses you."  
  
"That's hard to believe." Your quiet murmur comes a little too readily, and steeped in a little too much bitterness.  
  
"Oh? Ever since you were admitted to the hospital, he barely ever left. Dante says he slept right there in that chair by your bed. A knight too afraid to give his Sleeping Beauty a wake up kiss." Those last words are spoken with a teasing lilt, enough that you breathe in sharply and clench your hand over your cast in a piss poor attempt to still your increasingly rapid pulse. They're words you simultaneously do and absolutely do not want to hear. Not after you've spent days, nearly weeks trying to convince yourself to let him go. To give up and quit while you're still ahead. When she sees your reaction, the smile that Trish gives you is somber, almost sad. "Patch things up with him, okay? It almost makes me sad seeing him mope around the store. Almost."  
  
It makes her about as sad as seeing two people too dense and stubborn to meet eye to eye. Humans might have heart, but for all the time she's spent with them, the sheer number of humans who refuse to listen to it is staggering. Talk about irony.  
  
"Yeah. I will." It's a tentative placeholder promise for now. Something simply to end the discussion. It isn't that you don't appreciate their concern, you just wish they'd leave the two of you alone to sort it out amongst yourselves, regardless of how long it takes. Right now, you just want to be left alone in a place you know you're safe.  
  
So with an apologetic hand on your upper arm, and one more tired smile, Trish leaves you to do exactly that.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
You don't realise you dozed off right there on your couch until a series of knocks at your door startles you out of it. It takes you a moment to gather yourself, to remember where you are, but the person standing outside your apartment seems patient enough. Although maybe not enough that they don't knock again.   
  
"I'm coming…" The words are murmured under your breath, and though you know they can't hear you from this distance, the knocking stops all the same. It's likely your building's apartment manager, wondering why you've been missing for weeks with no notice, and more importantly, no rent.  
  
When you pull open the door though, straight away, you can tell it isn't him. Nobody else in this city is as flashy as the sons of Sparda, and when your eyes are met with the brilliant blue of Vergil's coat, you have to immediately pull your gaze from him. Out of shame? You're not sure. Vergil, meanwhile, is nowhere near as shy, and you can feel his penetrating stare on you.  
  
"You didn't come to the store." Again with the obvious. It's really the only way Vergil knows how to initiate conversation.  
  
"I was tired." Not untrue.  
  
He seems to contemplate that for a brief moment, begrudgingly accepting it as an acceptable response, which is why when he speaks next, it's to bring up something else. "You also haven't eaten since you were discharged."  
  
How does he even know that?  
  
"I was just about to make myself something." Okay, so that one's a lie. One that makes Vergil bristle, finding he doesn't like the idea of you lying to him. Dante? Sure, deception, playful or otherwise is to be expected of his twin brother - it's in his nature to be such. But you? That kind of insincerity isn't something he's used to from you. It isn't something he _wants_ to become used to from you, and maybe _that's_ what bugs him about it.  
  
The idea that this awkward air could simply be the norm between the two of you from now on...  
  
"Is that so? Trish tells me everything in your kitchen is well past expiry."  
  
Something like a choked noise erupts from the back of your throat, and it's then you realise that's what she was doing in your kitchen earlier today. Immediately, you feel your cheeks burn. Her attempt to play you for an idiot was a complete success.  
  
But it also speaks volumes for just how much Trish actually cares about you, if she was willing to initiate conversation with Vergil of all people - someone that she knows she isn't on the best of terms with.  
  
There's a sting that comes to your eyes to go along with the burn in your cheeks, but you blink it away, adamant to not cry in front of him. Like Vergil, that's a sort of weakness you don't like showing to anybody, but as if to add insult to injury, a particularly loud and well (or perhaps poorly?) timed gurgle rises from your stomach, and you instinctively step away from him, your good hand moving to cover your abdomen as if to muffle any further sounds.  
  
"That isn't… uh..." Your sentence tapers off rather pathetically.  
  
With an almost soundless sigh, Vergil takes this opportunity to step into your home, brushing past you to move into the kitchen, and it's then you notice the tote bag that hangs from his fingers at his side. It isn't a take out bag. Or well, it is, but the contents certainly aren't store bought. Halfway into your kitchen, Vergil stops to regard you over his shoulder, and unwittingly, you find yourself finally meeting his gaze. It's calm and steady as always, but you note there's something a little more in the way he's looking at you. Something that swirls in the blue of his eyes. Something a little sad.  
  
"Go sit down." His order is curt, but not hostile. Firm, but not a command. Vergil doesn't wait for you to move before he disappears into your kitchen, and you can hear him settle the bag onto the counter. There's no scuffle, no confused opening and closing of cupboards to find your plates and cutlery. Having been over only a small handful of times before, usually to see you home safely after a job, he's oddly familiar with the layout of your apartment.  
  
You merely chalk it up to his attentiveness to detail.  
  
When Vergil returns from your kitchen several minutes later, he brings two plates with him. Spaghetti, and a slice of strawberry pie. It's crudely constructed - the crust is uneven, and it looks almost as if he used his damn Rebellion to slice it, but Dante didn't lie about what he said, and you can feel the familiar prick of tears at your eyes again. How is it that those who show you the most kindness, the most compassion, the most patience aren't even fully human in the first place? You might live in a fine apartment in the heart of the city, but Devil May Cry is your _home_. In an attempt to hide your face from him, you keep your eyes glued to your hands folded in your lap, but the longer you keep your gaze down, the faster your vision begins to blur as the tears well up.  
  
"Eat." Vergil's tone is gentler than it was before, taking on an almost breathy cadence. "Then we'll talk."  
  
And without waiting for a response from you, though you doubted you would have been able to give him one if he had, he turns on his heel and lightly steps away to inspect the rest of your apartment, leaving you to your thoughts.  
  
Which, coincidentally, are a goddamn mess.  
  
In the distance, you can hear Vergil moving about your apartment, checking for oddities, ensuring the seals you erected on the outer walls of your home are still intact and functioning. They are, if the burnt fingertips are any indication after he lightly touches a wall. Seems the ones you placed affect even half demons too. Good. You're thorough, just as he knows you are. He circles to your room next, pausing just outside the doorway to peer inside. Your bed doesn't appear to have been slept in, and everything else seems to be untouched. In fact, aside from your own quiet presence in the living area, it doesn't seem that anybody else is, or has been present, and he finds that knowing this puts to ease some facet of his mind that was concerned… worried even, that he'd find the telltale signs of another man in the house. Of course, as far as he's aware, you're single, with very little time to pursue, or be pursued by other men, but given recent events, he wouldn't find it strange if you sought comfort elsewhere. He'd admittedly be hurt, yes, but he wouldn't find it strange.  
  
As soon as the thought crosses his mind however, he immediately feels foolish for getting so caught up in it. Curse Trish for putting him up to this. For so casually planting the idea in his head that it was _possible_ one of your attending doctors had a lingering interest in you beyond that of a patient.  
  
It seems you weren't the only one forced to dance to Trish's tune - he'd been thoroughly played too, and the idea is more frustrating to him than he'd like to admit. So he takes a moment to steel himself, to regain his composure with a deep inhale, and a hand raking back through his hair before he returns to you in the main living area. You've been picking at your plate of spaghetti at best while he's been gone, not really able to muster the energy to eat despite how ravenous you feel - there's a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach, not butterflies, but also not anxiety. But whatever it is, it comes to a peak as Vergil comes to a stop at the opposite end of your couch, where he half sits, half leans his hip against the arm rest. As far as you can tell from the blue of his coat that sits right on the periphery of your vision, he isn't watching you, which is relieving, but you can feel his physical presence. Thinking back, that's how he always was with you - remaining just out of reach, just a little too far. But always nearby. Not close, but always close enough.  
  
That's when you realise that feeling in your stomach is hope. For what, you don't dare to even ponder. Feels like if you do, whatever you're thinking might happen, won't.  
  
And so in silence is how the two of you remain for at least a full minute or two. It isn't that long in reality, but to you, it stretches on and on as you become acutely more aware of just how overbearing his mere presence can be, how intimidating he is even when he doesn't intend to be. And he honestly really doesn't. Not when it's just the two of you. With a quiet sigh, one that Vergil picks up on as he watches you out the corner of his eye, you place your plate down on the side table by your couch, leaving your hands free to… fidget nervously, wanting to find something, anything to break the silence with.  
  
"Vergil, I'm--"  
  
"It won't happen again." His voice is even when he interrupts you, but that isn't why you finally turn your head to look, to _really_ look at him for the first time in almost two months. His arms are folded across his chest, and he's staring down at… nothing it seems - a strange sight when his gaze is normally so clear and focused. He is pensive, picking and choosing his words with care. But with the way he's avoiding your gaze, he is nervous, unsure. Maybe even a little vulnerable. Those are all things he does not like to be, things he doesn't like to show other people, but is tolerating all the same for your sake. Because even he knows he owes you at least that much. "You won't be put in that position again. Where you feel you have no other choice but to give yourself up."  
  
Despite yourself, your heart begins to race, pulse thrumming loudly in your ears, and all you can do is sit in silence and wait for him to continue, which he does without prompting.  
  
"Trust in me. Even if it means I have to turn the world upside down, and inside out, I _will_ keep you safe. You just…" Vergil stops to take another breath. In his mind's eye, in an ideal world, he doesn't need to say anything to you to convey what he's thinking or feeling, but these past few weeks, and Dante's snide, idle commentary have hammered home how vital words can be. Odd that for all his love of literature, he hasn't realised this sooner.  
  
 _"Life isn't just cold facts, you know. You gotta chance it sometimes."  
  
_ Vergil cants his head to the side, eyes finally, _finally_ meeting yours, and when he sees the way your hand is clenched so tightly in your lap, the rigidity of your posture, he feels a twinge of something he assumes is regret.  
  
And just like that day, so long ago now, when he forced himself through that portal and saw your unconscious form on the floor, covered in blood and filth and muck - all things that don't belong on you - he moves automatically. Vergil balances one knee on the soft cushions of your couch and tugs you toward him, his arms finding their place around you. The only difference between now and then is that you're awake when he holds you close. But over his increasingly rapid pulse, he can't help but marvel at the way you (still) fit so perfectly snug against him - why did he deny himself this simple pleasure for so long? Why doesn't he take more chances with you?  
  
Well, that's about to change. Because _something_ has to.  
  
"I won't hurt you again." He mumbles this quietly into your ear, his voice only slightly muffled through your hair. "I've made mistakes, but I'll be better. I have to be better. I just need you to give me that chance to, because--" Vergil's grip on you tightens, and his voice becomes so impossibly small, you have to actually remind yourself that the man holding you right now is Vergil. "Because __I need you."  
  
You don't quite know what to process first. The warmth that radiates off him, or the way his fingers thread through your hair to gently coax your head against his shoulder, or the promises for a future you want more and more, the longer he sits with you like this. The only thing your mind does fully register is your good hand slipping around his waist as you let yourself melt into his hold, and that's all the response from you he needs. You're almost certain that the tears that have been threatening to fall ever since Vergil showed up are now leaving wet dots on his coat, and god, you hope he can't feel you trembling.  
  
His hands unfurl themselves from you to slide down your upper arms with a reassuring squeeze, and he holds you at arm's length for several seconds, surveying your tired face, and noting the wet sheen over your eyes. Something softens in his brow, and he closes the distance once more to press his forehead against yours, your noses only barely grazing. It's a gesture that's so impossibly intimate for Vergil that he has to close his eyes and let himself fully enjoy the moment, the closeness that taking a chance he was so worried would fail him, has rewarded him with.  
  
"This will be the last time I'm the reason for those tears."  
  
Your laugh is tiny and breathless, coming out more relieved than as any attempt to mock him.  
  
"I'll hold you to that."


End file.
